The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1887-04-01
WHAT ALLIED HIM.
Sad Story Of a Boy Sick With
Nostalgia"

Farmer Connover strobe into the
house, took off his fur cap and thick
mittens, and unwound numerous kinks
of red wooden comforter from his ample
throat. Then he sat down by the
warm wood fire and said to his wife:
''Seems like / had somethin' to tell
We, Sairy Ann, but / can't for the life
of me remember it neow."
''Was it somebody got married?' in
quired Mrs. ConnOver. who was
bustling about setting the table for
supper.
''No, didn't seem as twas. Lemme
think" and he pressed a meditative
torefnger on that portion of his fore
head where he seemed to locate the
faculty of memory.
is anybody dead that we are ac-
quainted with?"
"'No, no, tain't eyether marlyin' or
dyin' as kin see. Gurus how do for
get things sometimes"
1--WE amt heard from Ben for quite
awhile" suggested Mrs. Connover.
That's it," cried the farmer, Jump
ing to his feet as sprightly as a log.
''Tain't from Ben, Ieastwise it amt
his handwritin', but it's letter. I've
got it right here in my pocket"
''Do tell!' said his wife, dropping
the dishes she was holding in promis-
cuous heap. ''f it amt from Ben,
who is ii frOm?''
''It's writ to you,' said her husband,
producing it at last.
Mrs. COnnover reached up to the
clock shelf and took down her Bible
reading spectacles.
''It's a strange hand to me- she
said, scanning it carefully, ''must be
some of Cicely's folks"
So she stepped to the door leading
above stairs and called at the top of
her voice:
"C-i-c-e-I-y! C-i-c-e-l-yr'
Here 1 am, mother" answered a
sweet voice. "What is it?''
For every infection of her good
mothers voice was familiar to her, and
this one bristled with exclamation
points.
Here is letter in strange hand
write. Do you know who it is from?''
banding it to her.
why, it is addressed to you, mother.
It seems to me the easiest way to find
out would be just to open and read it.
well, then, do, said her mother.
"I'm SO fidgeted thinking about Ben
off there alone that can't open it."
This isn't any thing, about Ben,
said Cicely, deftly opening the envel-
ope after She had admired the smart,
college style supercription. 'It's from
some lawyer or fruit-tree agent, likely,
on business"
What would he write to your mother
for?" suggested Father Connover gruf-
fly.
Cicely read it over to herself first,
and at once changed color.
1t is about Ben, mother" she said,
the tears rushing into her eyes and her
voice, che is sick, and this is from the
doctor who is taking care Of him. Oh,
mother, don't cry. Ben needs you.
Keep up your strength"
What ails him?'' asked his father in
an unsteady tone.
Cicely read the doctors letter
He said thas Ben was his patient, and
he was doing all he could for him, but
his parents had better come, as it re-
quired more skill than he-thc phys
ician-had to cure him. He ended by
saying that the boy was suffering from
a severe attack of nostalgia.
"What in the world is that? I never
heard of it before" exclaimed Mr.
ConnOver.
''What is it, CiceIyP' asked Mrs
Connover. Cicely was a graduate of
the Normal school, and her parents
expected her to know every thing.
She shook her head.
lit means that we must go to Ben
Just as soon as we can. If there had
been any hope the doctor would have
said So
She cried and worked at the same
time. Ben, her only brother, was her
idol. She had opposed his going away
from first TO last, but the father was
wiser
If the boy amt contented here. let
him 20 to the city, and clerk it for
year or two. He's. king Of two hands
anywhere, - said the gruff old farmer.
And Ben had been i'll and too proud
70 let them know.
They took the evening train. At the
depot some of their friends had gath
cred to hear the news.
OF each and all, they asked the same
question.
.'Hev you ever heerd of Nastalgy?"
And none Of them had ever heard of
it. but all agreed that it must be
dreadful thing to have such difficult
name.
When they reached the city they had
cried and worried themselves sick.
At least the two women had. The
father, with the stoicism Of his kind,
had beat constant tattoo on the car
window and whistled an accompani-
ment-aIl the time he was cryingin his
heart.
''0h. Absalom! my soni my sonr'
There was no one TO meet them. rs
uo one was interested in their coming
except Ben and the doctor, and they